


An Hour Earlier

by negatory



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Post-Talon Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 22:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11322975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negatory/pseuds/negatory
Summary: Angela is apparently not allowed to go to work.





	An Hour Earlier

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't want to post this here because it's a random segment of a larger work that might someday (but also might never) be finished, but I've tried to post it 73 times on tumblr and it's not working and I am frustrated ( ;n;). Hope you enjoy reading!

Keys, briefcase, lunch, spare lab coat, stethoscope, her latest theses, tablet, coffee. Everything is accounted for. Angela heads to the front door. She regrets not seeing Widow before she has to leave, to explain her impending absence, but she supposes it can't be helped. Widow never answers the cell she was given. Angela hopes a sticky on the refrigerator will suffice.    
  
Balancing her coffee on top of her briefcase, she digs her keys out of her coat pocket. She had last seen the other woman the previous evening - Widow had been reading in Angela's office while she worked. They had eventually retired together, but Widow had gone out during the night, as she was often wont to do. She didn't sleep nearly as often as Angela did.  
  
Angela smiles a little. That was changing with time; the treatments she had started Widow on were helping to bring her within several normal ranges. They would continue them for as long as the effects were desired - Widow was captain after all.  
  
Angela's private grin becomes a frown when she realizes that she had been standing in her entrance hall for quite some time. The squints down at the keyhole she had been fiddling with.  She can't see it. In fact, the entire foyer resembles a late Monet painting. _Oh_.  Her glasses. She hurries back to the bedroom and snags them off the nightstand. Angela huffs, irritated with herself. Her attention was repeatedly pulled to her patients, her work, or most frequently her -  
  
As she finally gets the front door open, a hand slides over her shoulder and slams it closed. Angela nearly flees her own skin.  
  
"Where are you off to? And in such a _frenzy_." Widow's voice is thick velvet as she reaches out over Angela's other shoulder and steadies her teetering coffee cup.  
  
Angela pauses before turning, attempting first to collect herself and recall the motions of breathing. Then after a moment, she does, carefully, carefully in the cage of Widow's arms. Widow glares down at her, her eyes darting across Angela's features, searching. "You do not have a schedule today," she hisses.  
  
Angela didn't ask how Widow came to know that when she didn't get a chance to tell her yet. Instead, she gently explains, "I've been summoned this morning." She fishes her pager out of her breast-pocket and shows the imposing woman. "I'm on call," Angela says, sounding more sheepish than she intends.  
  
Widow's eyes move to the device, then slowly back to her. Angela patiently gives her a moment to process this, to develop a reaction.    
  
"You will stay _here_ ," the Frenchwoman says.    
  
It's not what Angela was hoping for, but it was par the course. They had spoken about this before, Angela's obligation to the hospital, but it seems to have mattered not. Widow didn't have much regard for the personal needs of others. But they were working on that, together.  
  
The woman in question grows offended with the lack of attention being paid to her, so she looms, pressing closer until she was flush against the doctor.  
  
Angela inhales sharply at both the coffee cup threatening again to overturn on her blouse and at being able to feel every nuance of Widow's dynamic hard and soft body through the dark leotard she'd taken a liking to wearing. Angela averts her eyes from Widow's long and elegant neck, struggling for more composure. "Oh no, I can't," she begins.    
  
Then Widow shifts against her, pressing more firmly, angling to see Angela's face behind the curtain of her hair. "J'ai un effet sur vous. Mon _corps_ a un effet sur vous. This is why you become this color."  
  
Angela hooks a finger into the neck of her top. So her face had begun to betray her already. Widow's breath is cool against her ear, but Angela is anything but. Still, she had to appraise the legitimate observation. "That is most certainly correct," she mumbles.    
  
Widow seems pleased with the small esteem. Her eyes open a little bit wider. "Très bon. You will stay. Here, with me," she repeats. It is a firm order, and Widow's lips skim Angela's jawline for emphasis. Angela feels a full body shiver rattle through her just as the other woman's hands slip from the wall behind her to hold her at the hips. She was rarely so plain about her more amorous desires. Angela wants to stay. Of course she does. Widow had her tongue on her throat. She does _indeed_. She glances at the clock behind Widow's head. She would soon be running late. Scheiße! _Scheiße_! Where in the world had this woman been an hour ago when she was still in bed?    
  
Angela gingerly returns the peppering of kisses that had reached her lips, divided about thoroughly showing her appreciation and also not wanting to stimulate things to go further. It is needless. Widow surges forward with the meager encouragement, deepening the kiss and tightening her touch. Angela loses herself when haze of her own arousal comes down like a curtain. It had been a few days since they had made love last, and she is starting to recognize how much she needed to again.  
  
Widow coaxes a groan out of her that she didn't know she could make. When she feels hands on her pencil skirt, going for the zipper, Angela retains a single moment of clarity.  
  
"Bärchen," she starts, pushing mildly at the center of Widow's chest with the tips of her fingers, "I'm so sorry. The hospital will really need my help today. We shouldn't. Not right now."  
  
Widow backs off immediately, and the cool air that replaces the warmth around Angela is extremely sobering. Her expression shifts into something dark and dangerous. She doesn't understand  Of course she doesn't. "Then you are free to go," she spits. "Bien. I don't want to see you anymore anyway."    
  
She abruptly stalks away, into the living room. Angela looks down at her belongings in her arms. Her coffee was still intact, somehow. Her ensemble was not. It was manipulative, this rapid change of demeanor, but it is clear Widow is deeply hurt by rejection, so Angela sets her things down with a small sigh and trails after her. She senses a long discussion incoming. She was going to be late after all.

**Author's Note:**

> J'ai un effet sur vous.  Mon corps a un effet sur vous. = I have an effect on you. My body has an effect on you.
> 
> Très bon. = Very good.
> 
> Scheiße! Scheiße! = Shit! Shit!
> 
> Bärchen, = Little bear,
> 
> Bien. = Good.
> 
> (I used google translate/the internet for these. If they are awkward or inappropriate, please correct me! Thank you! <( *w*)/ )


End file.
